


The Angst Basement

by CC_Writes



Series: RvB Angst War [2]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, Blood, Body Horror, Illness, M/M, Major injuries, angst war, characters added as needed, tags added as needed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-03 21:33:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14005263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CC_Writes/pseuds/CC_Writes
Summary: Where all my entries for the Red vs Blue Angst War™The writer receives prompts and tries to fill out as many as possible before the end of the week! Each chapter will contain more specific warnings.





	1. The Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from Creatrixanimi:  
> Grif actually falls from the cliff in s8 (I know its an oldie but still a goodie) but he doesn't break through the ice. Can be any extent of injury you want.
> 
> Warnings for blood and severe injuries to a major character.
> 
> HUGE thanks to Primtheamazing for betaing for me! :D

  
  
"Grif!"

"Simmons! Grab my hand! Help!"

"Hold on! Hold on! Hold on!"

"Simmons!"

"Don't let go!"

The squeaking shriek of flexible, rubber-like polymers, as one pulls away from the other despite best efforts.

Please. Please don't. Anything but this.

"Grif!"

"SIMMOOOoooooons!"  


Please!  
  


* * *

  


           The redhead sits. Frozen, on his knees, in the snow, the last vestiges of Grif's scream echoing off the sheer ice. Its cold, bitterly horribly cold, he knows, because the sensors in his suit pick it up, because the HUD says so, projects the temperature in cheerful red numbers and letters in the corner of his vision. But he can't feel it, he wishes, wildly, that he could, because it would at least mean feeling something. Instead, the suit keeps everything perfectly regulated, not too hot, not too cold, absolutely perfect for his body, which causes the odd sensation of not feeling anything at all.

It reflects how he feels right now. Numb, unfeeling, hollow and empty inside. Unable to move or do anything really, because as soon as he does he's going to fall to pieces. As soon as he breaks this limbo, it's going to become real, and Grif will- Grif will be...

"He's, gone..." he hears himself say, his voice is choked, strained, it would indicate that he's crying or is about to, but he can't tell, can't feel it.

A gruff voice says something, his shell cracks a little bit and he can only repeat, "I can't believe he's gone..."

"You know," Tucker's weirdly hopeful voice jams itself into the moment and won't let him ignore it, "sometimes when someone falls over a cliff in movies, he's usually just hanging onto a tree branch or something!"

He can hear Sarge disputing that claim behind him, hears him say increasingly harsh and cruel things about Grif. Somewhere in the back of his mind he understands. Understands that Sarge is trying to keep him from getting his hopes us, that he's also trying to protect himself by pretending that none of them liked Grif, that he wasn't worth liking.

That Simmons isn't crumbling slowly into a complete nightmare inside and is holding on desperately to that one insane ray of hope Tucker has offered.

His pleas are all shot down.

"Maybe we should look? Just in case?", "Are you sure? I can just peek right over the edge...", "Wouldn't even take a second!"

There's a space in there, space where Simmons expects an indignant yell, wants to hear it, cursing and yelling for them to hurry up and help!

But it doesn't come.

Simmons goes to the edge if anyone tries to dissuade him he doesn't hear them. Trembling, he crouches an looks down.

The sharp wailing yell rips out of him unbidden, his body jerks with the horrible unfairness of it, curling in on itself as the universe once again snatches hope away from him.

He almost pitches over the edge with his abrupt movement, but Sarge is at least observant and faster than you'd expect and he's snagged one of the support bars on the back of his armor and yanks Simmons back on his haunches in the snow.

Simmons doesn't react to that, his wail has cut itself off, knotted up in his throat and cutting off his air. He can't look away from the body below. Orange, bright and bold against the ice where it impacted, the body inside probably broken and mangled and- Simmons jerks upright.

He moved! Just slightly but he saw! The helmet moved! The camera on his helmet is good, it can zoom in close without losing fidelity. He can see Grif's minute movements, the cracks and impact crater on the ice sheet, the faint smears of red the edges of the water is lapping at.

"Grif!" he shouts into his com, Tucker flinches to his right, Sarge moves a bit closer, probably to pull him away, but Simmons won't have it.

"He's alive!" Simmons cries before Sarge can even say anything, Simmons is already ripping through his HUD, trying to make it bring up Grif's status, it won't, something is wrong with the signal, "Grif's alive, we have to help him! He's hurt! We- Sarge we have to get down there!"

Sarge claps his hands on Simmons' shoulders, making him focus, steering him away from the edge, "Yer, sure?" he asks calmly once he has his subordinate's attention.

"Yes! He is, I don't know how long we have, but right now he-"

The Red leader silences him with a raised hand, "Well then there's nothin' to do fer it. If Grif can't even die right then we best go scrape him up before he embarrasses us further!"

 

* * *

  
  
          Sarge rounds everyone up, and everyone is just Tucker because Wash is no good and Simmons understands completely why Sarge isn't sure if he can be trusted enough to help with this, and Caboose is trying to deal with the newest Blue crisis, waiting for Church to come out of the memory unit.

That's fine, its totally fine, Simmons repeats to himself, he can do it himself if he had to. He's going to. He's not just going to let Grif bleed out on the ice. He hasn't responded on the radio at all, so there's no way to make an assessment. That just means they have to hurry.

He looks at Sarge expectantly, he's sent Tucker to find... Whatever it was, he wasn't paying attention... If he has an assignment then he can do something, something useful, something that will help save Grif and-

"Simmons." the soldier in question snaps to, eager for instruction, Sarge eyes him, "Yer gonna sit right here and wait for us to get back with the equipment."

Simmons splutters, "What!? Why? I can't just sit and do nothing!"

"You can and you will!" Sarge cut him off, "You think I'm gonna trust a Blue to rescue Grif?! He may be a useless lump but he's still a Red! And, daring and heroic as I am, I need to oversee the operation! So that leaves you, soldier! So, I need you to be focused!"

Simmons blink, voice wobbly, "I-I understand Sir. I'll um... Keep trying the radio?"

Sarge nods and then is gone, leaving Simmons alone in that corner of the depot.

He sits down on a crate dejectedly. He gets it, he does, he needs to calm down, he's dangerously close to having a breakdown and he's no good if that happened. But with nothing substantial to do, all that's left is to go over events in his head. Repeating and repeating, trying to figure out where he'd messed up, see where he went wrong. There had to be something, something he could have done better... If it was his fault then he could fix it, could be better, so...

The radio, he could focus on that. That was something at least.

He calls Grip's name on the radio a few times, still no answer. He tries not to feel self-conscious about the fact that everyone can hear him on this channel, his nerves are still jangled enough that they overrule the social anxiety.

Frustrated, he pulls off his helmet, silencing the background chatter of Sarge and Tucker trying to find, whatever it is they're looking for. He stares morosely at his reflection in the golden visor, tired and worn from their most recent cluster fuck of an adventure. Which has now become even more of one. He hadn't thought that possible...

Just goes to show what happens when you get hopeful Richard. Your teammate falls off a cliff and gets splattered on the-

He claps his hands over his ears as though it will stop the intrusive thoughts. It rarely does. He needs to calm down, get his head where it needs to be, prepare for the worst...

The cyborg's eye stings a bit, one side blurring slightly as his tenuous grasp at calm slips a little. If Grif- if Grif were here. If he were here he'd probably laugh at him, tell him he's making himself nuts.

Thinking about it makes him feel a little grounded, though his stomach still churns nauseously. If it was really bad... Grif would probably start a private com, tell him something rude or have some stupid comment that would make him laugh or tick him off so he wouldn't be so upset and...

Simmons' gaze falls to his helmet again. It's a stupid idea... But... What if...? Cautiously he picks it back up and puts it on. A moment's hesitation and he's turned off the main radio. He tells himself he won't get his hopes up, not at all, not even a little as he tries opening a private channel with Grif.

His ears are filled with static and ever so cautiously he calls out, "Grif?" static, "Grif, are you there?" nothing.

"Stupid," the redhead whispers to himself, "he didn't answer before why would he now? You said you weren't going to get your hopes up! This is what happens when you do that. You get all cocky and think nothing could go wrong and then people fall off cliffs because you're too much of a fucking butterfingers and-"

"S'mm'n's?"

Simmons almost chokes on his own lungs, which are not lungs anymore its a series of- oh my god this is not the time!

"Grif!? Oh my god, you're alive! Are you right? I'm not imagining- ?"

"S'l down..." Grif slurs groggily, "I can't underst'nd..."

"I'm sorry." Simmons says quietly, "I... I'm really glad to hear your voice." he blurts and his face goes from pale to tomato in half a second, "How um.. How are you feeling?"

"Fucked up..." Grif slurs, "f'cking hurts..."

"What hurts?" Simmons presses, any of this could be important.

"Everything..." Grif whines, "M' head... My back..." he pauses and makes a shuddering sound, "S'Simmns I'm cold..."

Cold? That was bad, the environmental systems in the suit could have shorted or been damaged.

"...think..." the Hawaiian continues, "I think there's water..."

"Yeah, you're on the ice," Simmons tries to sound calm, he's anything but, "right by the water, you can probably hear it."

"Nooooo... I think, I- Fuck- I feel water."

Oh no.

"Where?" Simmons askes quickly,"where do you feel it?"

"Ummm... Uh... I think the bottom? Think I feel it on part of my back? I can't tell. My legs feel weird..."

The redhead curses, hopping to his feet. Bad bad bad bad bad!

"Simmons?" Grif asks, sounding more alert, "I think I'm really messed up..."

  
  
          "Sarge!" Simmons hollers, skidding around a crate to reach him, "Sarge! I got Grif on the radio!"

The Red leader perks, almost dropping some bit of tech or something on Tucker who's poking around in what looks like an older model warthog.

"Really?" the Blue squawks, "I don't hear him!"

"Can it!" Sarge barks, turning to his subordinate, "Got him on a private channel?"

Simmons nods.

Sarge hums, "Radio must be busted... Of course, that dirt bag 'd make it harder for us. What's his status!? If he's just waiting around..."

"No! He's hurt," Simmons insists, "bad, I think. Says his legs, head, back, he can't really move. Um, the environmentals might be down? He says he's cold, and I think his suit is breached. There's water inside!"

Sarge looks visibly alarmed, well, in the way that only Sarge does. At least Simmons is pretty sure that's alarm? 80% chance that's alarm...

"God damn it!" Sarge bellows, "This is state of the art military equipment! Only Grif would find a way to break it by falling off a little cliff."

"'S that Sarge?" Grif garbles, "Fuc'you old man..."

"Grif is very remorseful!"

Tucker rolls his eyes so hard Simmons can practically hear it, "Okay when you're done with your family drama over there, I think this thing has enough cable to get down the cliff...probably."

"Excellent!" Sarge booms, "Simmons! You go find us a safe place to put this puppy so we can rescue that waste of space!"

"I- um, will do Sir!" Simmons scrambles to locate the door to the outside.

"And Simmons!"

"Yes?!"

"Keep Grif talking! The last thing we need is for him to pass out or lapse into a coma and make this even more difficult for the rest of us."

 

* * *

  
  
          "So..."

Simmons had carefully skirted the edge of the cliff, checking his equipment and making a visual assessment of the area, trying to find the most stable ground, as close to Grif as possible.

"So, um.."

And trying to think of something for Grif to talk about.

"See anything?"

"You already asked me that..." Grif answers, while more alert than before he still sounds groggy and he's clearly in a lot of pain, "and my answer is still 'the sky'..."

"Sorry..."

"'S okay..."

Simmons frowns, "It isn't if I hadn't... Shit, um... Is your HUD still working? Do you see it?"

"Um... Part of it? 'S hard to read."

"Does it have your bio readings on it? I'm not close enough to see them... Hell, I don't even see you!"

"Maybe? I think I don't know what this saaays!" Grif whined, "Ow. Shouldn't have done that..."

There was a worrying slice of silence.

"I see the little... Picture of the guy?"

"The what?"

"The guy! Like... He's got his arms and legs out and they're green if you're good?"

Oh! Simplified display. That was better than nothing.

"How is your little guy?" Simmons asks, worried.

Grif snickers, the end breaking off into another grunt of pain, "He's red?" he ventures and Simmons' heart jumps, "legs are... Dotted lines? I don't know what that means... Arms are too. Head has like, I don't know there's some kind of icon? I can't see it right..."

"I think it means they're broken... Probably a concussion too."

"Whyyyyyyy?" the Hawaiian wails, "isn't this crap supposed to survive falling from ssp'c?"

"Maybe the fall wasn't high enough to trip it?" Simmons suggests, "or it malfunctioned?"

Grif is quiet for a moment, "I'm tired, Simmons..."

"I know..."

"I wanna take a nap..."

"Not yet," Simmons pleads gently, "when we get you up okay? Take you to... Like, a hospital? And you can sleep, okay?"

"Hnnnn..."

"Grif," Simmons tries, voice cracking a little, throat feeling tight, "I'm sorry, but you can't. If you do you might... Not wake up again."

"That's bad?"

"Yeah."

"Okay..."

A pause.

"Simmons?"

"Yes?"

"Don't hang up, okay?"

"I won't."

 

* * *

  
  
          "A'right! Got yourself tethered properly?"

"Yes, Sir! Best I can Sir!" Simmons holds his arms up, showing the cable looped around his torso and clipped in place, for inspection.

"Alright!" Sarge turns to Tucker, "now! You're gonna let that out a bit at a time. Not too much! If you do!" the threat hangs in the air.

"Oh my god I won't!" Tucker snaps, "you've told me how to do this so many times I'm going to be bellying people in my sleep!"

"It's belay." Simmons corrects him automatically.

"What the fuck ever," the aqua soldier grouses, "Go belay your boyfriend."

"I'm going to be repelling-"

"You sure fucking are! Now go before I fucking push you!"

Simmons can't really argue with that, he really wants to but he'll bite his tongue, for now, he's got a job to do.

  
  
          Repelling down turns out to be easier than Simmons thought it would be. Its a bit unsettling, when he pushes off the ice and gets a sudden surge of slack, dropping another dozen feet or so. Makes his stomach squirm.

That's overshadowed by the burning worry that still hasn't left, it hasn't been assuaged even slightly by Grif talking, which he still is, just little fragments that are starting to get a little nonsensical.

Its strong enough to override his fear of heights, though he still wants to curl up and cry every time he has to look down before calling for another belay.

His legs are shaking when they finally land on the sheet.

Grif's laying close enough that Simmons can see him, but its still a bit far.

"I see you." he says to his teammate, "I'll be there in just a couple minutes." he swallows, "how are you holding up?"

"Huh? Oh, um... Same? Maybe? I don't know. I'm really tired..."

"I know."

"Hurts a lot..."

Simmons swallows, "I know."

"I don't know what these errors mean... There's a lot. I think that's bad, isn't it?"

Simmons doesn't know what to say, he just keeps putting one foot in front of the other, inching closer. He has to check the integrity of the ice before he steps, it's not that strong in places. He suspects that where Grif is will be the worst.

"Simmons?"

"Yes?"

"You're almost there right?" Grif asks, voice trembling just a little, "I can't look, hurts to try and turn my head..."

"I am." Simmons assures him, trying not to dwell on how bad Grif sounds, “you'll probably hear me in a second. Don't move at all if you can okay?"

Grif seems to perk at that, "Yeah, okay..."

He sounds oddly small... Simmons can't help but feel another wrench in his chest at that.

The ice around Grif is pretty bad off. It's not going to like disintegrate as soon as he touches it, but it's really not a good idea to stand on it. So, in the end, Simmons has to sort of half crawl the last couple of feet, spread his weight out the best he can until he's next to the other man.

"Hey," he calls, Grif twitches slightly and Simmons hears his sigh of relief, "Someone order a rescue?" he tries to joke but his heart really isn't in it.

"'Bout time." he can hear the smile, that's good, that's hope and hope is good. Good.

"I still can't get a reading on you..." Simmons frowns, "I'm gonna try to plug in manually first, okay?"

"Supposed to take a guy to dinner first."

Simmons chokes on a laugh, "Be serious." he chides, not particularly serious himself, "I need to see how bad it is before I try to move you."

Grif is hurt somewhere, he's sure of that. The blood on the ice wasn't something he imagined, he can see it clearly now. It's not a lot but that doesn't mean anything. Bleeding on the outside says nothing of bleeding on the inside.  


          The state of the orange trooper's armor is fairly bad, Simmons sees it right away on his HUD. It looked normal from above but the back is... He's a bit glad he can't see it, to be honest. It took the brunt of the impact, the readout shows the two extending pieces on the back have been all but crushed, Grif is probably unbelievably lucky that they crumpled rather than jammed up into his body. That's really about as lucky as he is though. His reading of his HUD was not inaccurate, his arms are most assuredly broken, so are his legs, several ribs too, a concussion...

But... that's not everything, and the longer the readout goes the more Simmons feels the barely reigned in panic seeping up through the cracks in his already frayed control. Long range radio is shot, environmental systems are all but off, his body temperature is horribly low and still dropping. There's a gash in the suit, the frigid seawater seeping in, that's where the blood is coming from, but he wasn't wrong to worry about other sources, there's internal bleeding too.

He's not sure how Grif is even still conscious...

What's he supposed to do? How can he move Grif? How can he without making things worse? Oh god, how does he move him without killing him!?

“That bad...?” Grif garbles.

“I... I um, no-no it's...”

“Damn...” Grif sighs, “It's worse...” his voice trembles a little, “So what do we do?”

“I... I think...” Simmons struggles to think of something, anything useful. So many things aren't on that should be. Why didn't the lock kick in? All he can figure is that the fall wasn't high enough, it was high enough to hurt him this badly, not enough for safeties to kick in. It makes him want to scream.

Okay.... so, maybe... fuck, can he turn it on manually? If he does then maybe it will make it safe to move him? If Grif is held perfectly still then his injuries won't be jostled?

Yeah, that's a plan... okay, what else? What else can he do? The bleeding, he needs to stop it too, internal he can't do shit for but the gash, maybe he can?

Please, oh please, tell him the biofoam system still works... Tell him Grif hasn't emptied it out, tell him it's full.

He pings the system and targets the area, “Okay.” He tells Grif, “Brace yourself, you're bleeding, I have to make it stop. I don't know how bad it's going to hurt.”

“Fuck,” Grif whimpers, “Fuck, okay just... Get it over with.”

Grif doesn't scream per-say, more a horrible cry of agony through gritted teeth, his body arches up against the pain, not too bad but it makes Simmons' chest hurt.

“Almost over, almost,” he promises, “I have to get the lock on now okay? Then I can move you, it's almost over.”

Grif manages a barely there nod, a quiet sound of affirmation.

Simmons chases the function he needs through menus, its absurd and terrible design, but he finds it at last and activates the lock.

  
Then it all goes to hell.

  
          Simmons didn't know that the lock wouldn't just freeze Grif in place, he didn't know that it would move him minutely, that it would bend his limbs slightly for reasons that while normally are probably helpful really aren't right now. Grif does scream, it's terrible, and it's only thanks to that that Simmons is already moving, to grab hold of him, an apology on his lips. It is thanks only to that that his arms end up around Grif when some bit of armor pops free of the ice and the whole area around them just shatters.

It is quite possibly the most terrifying thing that has ever happened to Simmons in his relatively problematic life, or at least it is right now in this moment. The radio clicks off automatically to protect itself, he hears it with a horrid finality as everything goes from overly bright to pitch black, cutting off Grif's cry of fear and leaving only his own. It doesn't last long as his helmet starts to flood with water, and Simmons coughs and chokes on mouthfuls of freezing sea water.

In his head, it feels like.... maybe what insanity feels like? On the one his brain is screaming, every primitive part of it shrieking and fighting the onset of what inevitably seems like death's certain approach. Under that, there's an odd layer of calm in which Simmons wonders, what the fuck? Like, really. Why is it, they have this insanely advanced bio-mechanical armor, its designed to be worn so often that it may as well be part of their body's now. They have chips lodged in their skulls to connect them to it. But it just stops responding at the slightest break. It can fall from orbit and be fine. But a fall from a cliff face leaves them broken and bleeding. It can seal itself up so they can breathe in the vacuum of SPACE. But WATER, nope too bad! Guess we didn't figure that! Guess the Earth's greatest and bravest get to die if they fall face down in a puddle!

And also he is still screaming.

  
          The cable around his waist suddenly goes taught, he'd almost forgotten. While he and Grif were sinking like fucking rocks and drinking the ocean, he'd fucking forgot. It hoists the two of them up very quickly, almost too much, Simmons feels the jar against his ribs and knows it will bruise later, but that's a small price to pay. Really, it's absolutely nothing compared to what Grif is dealing with, so he can suck it up.

They're hauled out and on to the ice, where thankfully whoever is manning the pulley pauses so they can get their barrings. His suit's systems reboot immediately and there's a weird sensation as his suit vents his helmet, dizzily he tries to make himself focus, Grif's suit isn't working, he needs to make it work. It's a frantic moment, of navigating the horribly designed menu, of ordering it multiple times to reboot the environmental systems but it finally, finally does.

There's a rush of air and he hears Grif start coughing as his suit vents the sea water, his frantic panting turns to a sobbing cry of pain when the newly activated system finale detects it's host's drop in body temperature and seeks to rectify it. A literal rush of steam pours from under the armored plates and Simmons scrambles to haul his still frozen companion up off the ice before things go to hell again.

Grif, he realizes, is crying, like not loudly, it's actually really quiet. It's the kind of unrestrained crying of someone who just can't stop it from happening. Apologies tumble from Simmons' lips automatically, as he pulls Grif up and positions him with his back against his chest, so they can be pulled back across the ice. His radio has been pinging constantly since it came back on, but he shakily waves an arm instead of replying, reopening his line with Grif instead. The pained sounds are more audible now and Simmons feels his own eye well up in response.

“I'm sorry.” he whispers, “I'm so sorry Grif if I'd just held on. If I didn't let go I-”

It hurts a lot, to hear the sounds his... teammate is making. Those involuntary hitches and squeaking break that humans just make when they can't do anything else. Just the most basic animal sounds. And, he feels ashamed, he has no right to feel bad for himself, guilt over not being good enough maybe, but not self-pity.

“Don't...” Grif gasps out, “Don't do that man. If you- fuck- if you start... crying, too... I'm... fuck man, it can't be both of us losing it...”

“I'm sorry.”

“I...wanna go home...”

“I know, I know. Sorry I'll tell them to pull us up, just hold on.”

Simmons raises his hand up and waves without looking. Hoping that his signal is understood because the hell if he's going to cut this call right now.

Luck for once is on his side because a moment or two after he feels the cable go taught and slowly he and Grif are dragged across the ice. They probably look stupid being dragged along on their butts, but it 's the safest way. They're even heavier than a single person and there's no time at all to waist on taking slow steps and checking everything. So you distribute your weight the best you can and you get hauled back.

  
          As they're pulled along Simmons tries to keep up some semblance of calm reassuring talk, but he can't seem to quite get it. He's not at sobbing breakdown yet, but he's close. So through choked words and pauses to blink his eye clear he just keeps repeating the same basic things. They're almost done. Just a little longer. They'll get him help right away. Someone must have called for evac by now. That asshole guy Wash must have someone who sent him, someone who would be coming here to get them out.

“Fuck... I'm so fucking scared.”

Simmons pauses mid-ramble, “I... I'm sorry.” nothing better to say, just the same repeated apologies.

“...When we fell in the water...” Grif mumbles, “Thought I was gonna die...” he breaths shakily, “...Am I going to die?”

“No.” Simmons says, “No, you're not.” says it again to make it real.

“...Fuckin' hurts... So god damn much...”

“I know...”

The cable hoists them upwards, still slowly so Simmons won't lose his grip on Grif's locked armor. He holds tighter anyway.

“You're going to be okay.” Simmons assures him as they're pulled up, “I promise. I'm not gonna let go.”

“Okay...”

As they near the edge Simmons thinks he hears engine sounds in the distance, is that help? He hopes so, please please let that be help... Please let Grif be okay. Please let him make it through this. Because after this Simmons doesn't know what to do. He has no plans, no manual, nothing. And right now, he's struggling, trying not to think about what's become increasingly apparent ever since he lost hold of Grif's hand.

  
He doesn't know what to do without him.  
  
  
END


	2. Blood Suckers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst War Prompt stickynotedoodler:  
> For the Angst War: (Monster AU) Grif's fear of bats isn't some random fear after all as Simmons learns one night after they get drunk. Grif, as it turns out, is the only survivor of a colony/city after a surprise vampire attack when he was younger and is still haunted by this event years later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for blood, murder, ptsd
> 
> Shout out to Primtheamazing for betaing this for me! :D Thank you so much!

 

  
  
"But why bats though?"   
  
"Fuck off, I don't have to tell you that!"   
  
Simmons gave Grif a side glare, beer paused partway to his mouth. They were squirreled away in a storage room, which they were supposed to be doing inventory for, but Grif had convinced him to take a break, sweetening the deal with the promise of beer, "Yes, you do." Simmons shot back, "I told you why I don't like snakes, you have to tell me why you don't like bats, and I'll know if you're lying."   
  
Grif grumbled, throwing back what was left in his bottle, depositing it carelessly to one side and snatching up another.   
  
"Fine," the hefty man grumbled. "You better not fucking laugh."   
  
"No more than you laughed at me."   
  
"And you better not tell anyone!"   
  
"Deal goes both ways." Simmons chided, "You keep your mouth shut and so will I."   
  
Grif grumbled, "I don't like bats because... Vampires."   
  
Simmons blinked, "Like a movie or book or...?"   
  
"Nah, man, like real honest to god vampires!"   
  


There was a long awkward pause.   
  


"You don't believe me," Grif said flatly.    
  
Simmons shook his head and gestured placatingly, "I didn't say that!" he insisted, hell, he hadn't said anything, "Just, I don't know what you're talking about. You can't just say, 'bats because real vampires' you have to give me a bit more than that!"   
  
Grif sighed, "Yeah, I guess..." he looked kind of uncomfortable like maybe he'd made a mistake saying something, "See, I- well before this, before we met in basic, I was stationed at this base on this podunk colony."   
  
"Really?" Simmons asked in surprise, "you were deployed before?"   
  
"Yeah, it wasn't long though," Grif shrugged, "A bit over a year I think?" he frowned, "That's not really important though. What is is what happened to it."   
  
"Not sure when it started but, suddenly there were bats. We saw them a few nights in a row." Grif began the story proper, "Just like, three or four, zipping around in the air, seemed to like the lights. At the time we just thought it was because they attracted bugs but..."    


  
He took another drink.   
  


"It was weird, cause, see, far as we knew there weren't any bats on the planet at all. I mean it wasn't really big either, the planet, short days, longish nights, and we'd never seen one before. Davidson and a couple of the other nerdy guys though that like, one of the labs had brought bats from earth to like experiment on and shit and that they got loose. Kept saying they might be a giant environmental hazard, over breed and drive out the local wildlife." Grif snorted, "Other guys started joking that we were gonna end up in a B movie, 'Invasion of the Space Bats'." he finished with a grim kind of humor.   
  
"I guess that makes sense," Simmons mused, "If there wasn't any direct competition, lots of food, long hunting hours? They probably would thrive."   
  
Grif laughed into his beer, "God you're such a nerd." he licked his lips, "but I mean yeah, it was what made the most sense. Like for a while, they'd just pop in after it got dark and would flap around, perch on ledges, be gone in the morning." the Hawaiian shuddered, "Bastards were watching us."   
  
"I assume you're going to tell me why you think that?" Simmons reached for a new beer.   
  
"Yeah, I'm getting to that. Right now actually. Cause like, just out of the blue one night one of the proximity alarms goes off. Everyone damn near has a heart attack. Half of them think we're being invaded, other one thinks its a bunch of shit kids from the settlement. Nope, it's the bats, there's like ten of them crammed inside one of the air vents. Like they were trying to see how many of them would fit, that's how tightly packed they are." Grif paused, glaring a hole in the floor, "I bet they were trying to see how many of them it took to set off the alarm..."   
  
"That is pretty weird." The redhead admitted.    
  
"Yeah. Glad we agree on that." Grif replied, "So, bunch of us get told to pull them out, cause removing the vent is like a no-go, a fifteen-foot thick wall made of metal and concrete? Hell, no are we getting in. So we're trying to figure out what to do, thinking we probably have to kill them, but we can't shoot them, and we're arguing about who's gonna have to clean up the mess and how bad bat guts are gonna smell, and this kid-" Grif gestured to the air, trying to recall it, "Summers! That's it! Jeremy Summers! He's a scrawny little nerd boy, who's all like 'We can't kill them!' and 'God's creatures, blah blah blah' so he's gonna pull them out himself!"   
  
Simmons grimaced, shaking his head at Grif like it could retroactively change things, "Oh my god no, you can't do that! It's not safe!"   
  
"No shit!" Grif exclaimed, the buzz making him more theatrical, "And he fucking does it! He reaches in and fucking grabs a bat by the ass and pulls it out! The bat just starts flipping the fuck out! The other bats all haul ass and just like explode out of the vent and he's yelling and we're yelling and the bats are yelling and the bat in his hand finally gets free and then its just all over. Summers is holding his hand and its all messed up, its bleeding and all torn up, like the bat bit right through the glove!" the heavier man shuddered, "Sergeant sends his ass to medical and we're all giving him shit, telling him he's gonna get space rabies or something."   
  
"Did he? Was he okay?" Simmons asked.   


"Well, I mean at the time we thought so, they cleaned it up, I think he got a couple stitches, bandaged it all up, they gave him some meds and that was kind of it." Grif sort of scoots a little bit closer and Simmons tries not to think too hard about the why, and pointedly does his best not to look at him, "Then... Summers got sick," the Hawaiian continued on, "like he was tired a lot, complained that all the food tasted bad, said he was thirsty all the time, had really bad headaches." Grif's expression twisted into something almost regretful, "We gave him a lot of shit. Said he was faking it, said he had space rabies. That kind of crap. Like really we couldn't have known what was actually wrong with him, but we should have known there was something up. You know, we wouldn't notice that he wasn't eating anymore because nobody would, but something like him swapping all his shifts for night watch? Refusing to go outside during the day? Then next I hear he's in the brig! People are saying he killed one of the new recruits, people embellish shit but everyone is saying the same thing, that he beat her to death, cut her up, they're fucking saying he was trying to eat her!"   


  
Grif paused for a minute and Simmons didn't say anything as he gathered himself for the next part.   
  


"He ends up in medical again the next day. Guys on guard duty say he's like completely lost it, he's totally fucked up the cell, he's like bleeding and throwing up, they say he doesn't even look human anymore. He got out somehow, that night, I saw him from the tower, just ran off into the woods, could hear him screaming." another grimace, "Should have known something wasn't right... There weren't any bats that night. We... found his body in the morning. Went out in the woods to look and... It was totally unrecognizable, completely burnt, wouldn't have even guessed if it wasn't wearing his tags and had his implants." Grif stopped again, looking a bit nauseous, probably remembering what he saw in that kind of detail that memory only provides when you don't want it to.   


 

  
The new pause was so long for a second Simmons though maybe that was it, "So then... After that things went back to normal?"   


 

  
"For almost a week yeah..." Grif confirmed.    
  
"But...?"   
  
"But," Grif repeated, "after that... It all went to shit." the Hawaiian actually puts his beer down and folds one hand over the other, resting them in his lap, "it wasn't just three or four bats, or ten, it was thousands, so many of them, they were everywhere, even with floodlights on you couldn't see through them. All the prox alarms went off, everyone is panicking. Shooting at them does fuck all, they're way too many, and I don't think the bullets could hurt them anyway..." he stopped for a moment, brow furrowed in concentration, "I don't know how I got inside..." he continued, "I remember the sergeant shouting for us to go, I think she pulled me inside, not sure..."   
  
Simmons was torn, he wanted to offer some kind of words of comfort, but what could he possibly say that didn't sound like an empty platitude?   
  
"So, me and some of the others end up inside and its total hell in there too. Few of them want to go for the coms, try to get help. Some of them wanted to just find a place to hole up till morning."   
  
“Which did you pick?" Simmons interjected without thinking. He wanted to kick himself as soon as the question left his mouth.   
  
"Guess it would be nice if I said something like; 'my choice got made for me' or some shit, huh?" the Hawaiian sighed, "Way I figured it, there was no way back up would get here in time. Would be a few days at least. The bats weren't ever there during the day so, as long as we found someplace safe to hunker down in we'd maybe make it." Grif scooped up his previously discarded bottle and took a long pull from it, maybe it made it easier to talk about all this? He didn't really look like he was enjoying it... "So we split up, probably a bad idea but we couldn't agree and there really wasn't any time to debate. But it just got worse after that, 'cuz the bats... Well, they weren't just bats anymore." Grif's expression got very serious and his gestures more adamant, "We rounded this corner, right? At this intersection? And smack in the middle of the damn hall is this... Fucking hulking thing! It looked kind of like a... Crap what are they called, big god damn aliens, got like dinosaur heads?"   
  
“Sangheili?"   
  
"Yeah! Only it doesn't really even look like one anymore. It was.... Like too thin and like these teeth and... It was just... It had this private, I didn't even know their name, its just like, got its jaws on their neck and there's just blood everywhere..." Grif ran his fingers through his hair, "It turns and stares at us... Then it like roars and we just, fuck I don't know. We're just running and there's just suddenly more and one of the guys is firing behind us and it's doing fuck all... And I..."   
  
Grif stopped, licking his lips nervously. Simmons tried not to stare, but he could still see the minute trembling of his hands.   
  
"Grif?"   
  
"I don't know when, but at some point, I was alone. I... Found a storage room I guess and... I locked the door... Ended up behind a storage cabinet. I could hear gunshots, screaming, I think someone tried the door but I didn't know if it was one of us or one of them so I didn't even answer, never tried to find out who it was...” Grif seemed stricken, and that was pretty heavy wasn't it? Not knowing if the person you'd ignored was one of your own, “Then... I passed out," he barked out a bitter laugh, "Or fell asleep... But next thing I know it's day. Still took me a while to actually come out to look... when I did it... There wasn't anyone left... Only me..."   
  
Grif visibly paled, the skin on his face looking ashen rather than it's healthier tanned hues.   
  
“It was...”

  
  
Simmons reached out to put a hand on Grif's shoulder, stopping when the other man flinched, and pulled his hand back, “Hey, umm,” he tried instead, “it's okay, you don't have to say it if you don't want to. I... can imagine how it must have been...”   
  
Grif didn't look so sure of that but continued on anyway, “I went to the control room... The group that went there? They'd made it... I figured out that they'd gotten a message through, but they.... Must have gotten caught...” the heavier man looked a little ill, “Took the rescue team a week to get there...”   
  
Simmons frowned, “Did... did they come back? The bats?”   
  
“No. Maybe. I don't know. I just kind of stayed in the storage room... Kept the radio on... I didn't go out at night... But I never heard anything.” he laughed dryly again, “I didn't eat much if you can believe that... I think... think I was pretty sick when they found me.”   
  
Simmons' brow furrowed in worry, “Did they, I don't know, what did they do about it?”   
  
Grif snorted, “Well when I woke up in medical, I got 'debriefed' by some asshole. Told them what happened, everything I told you and then some, didn't spare a bit of detail... They... Well, they didn't deny the attack, you can't pretend that that didn't happen. But, they just... Said it was a Sangheili attack, but... didn't say fuck all about bats. Told me I was imagining the rest. That it was PTSD or shock or what the fuck ever. They didn't deny that the... massacre, had happened. My squad was dead, friends were dead, the whole base! But that I was imagining that they'd been eaten... that those fuckers were goddamn vampires!” He gripped the bottle so tight it gave a threatening squeak, “I know what I saw... I was there for a week after it. I saw what they did.... There were so many bodies... I didn't imagine it... I'd take a real attack over that...”   
  
“Grif...I...” Simmons tried.   
  
“Do you believe me?” Grif asked, voice very serious, “Or you think I made it up?”   


 

  
“I... believe you.”   


 

  
Grif actually balked and looked at him with mild surprise, “Really? You do?” he frowned, “I wasn't expecting that...”   
  
“Yeah... I mean...” Simmons began, “I'm sure that somethings are distorted, memory is weird like that... But... There's too much that happened beforehand to mean you imagined it all. And I think... you don't really seem the type to hallucinate something even worse than what actually happened, especially if that thing was that terrible, to begin with.”   
  
Grif stared at him, like a hard stare, and Simmons tried very hard not to look away.    
  
“What is it with you?” the Hawaiian finally asked, “Why don't you just tell me I'm making it up?”   
  
“Why would you want me too? I said I believed you, and I do. Wouldn't it make you mad if I lied? If I did say you made it all up?”   
  
“No, but!” Grif fumbled his words, trying to articulate what he meant, either it was that hard or the beer was having more of an effect than he'd thought? “Why would you? That's like... isn't it a bad idea for you? It's like just a step away from admitting it!”   
  
Simmons felt an actual tingle of unease curl around it his stomach and prickle at the back of his head, “Admitting what...?”   
  
“No sane person would believe me.” Grif stated, “Only people who would were people who were nuts and maybe you are but not like that, or someone who had the first-person experience, and you'd probably be like super traumatized, so that leaves only one other option.”   
  
Simmons swallowed, “And that is?”   
  
“That you're one too.”   
  
“Ah,” Simmons looked away, thumb picking at the edge of the label on the bottle, “... You knew already?”   
  
Grif seemed surprised again by his answer, “Yeah...”    
  
“Then why did you tell me?”    
  
His teammate is quiet for a moment, “Because... I don't know... I figured it out a while ago.” Grif squirmed a little, “I was mad at you, I don't remember why, something stupid, I think it was about my snacks? And I saw the 'health shakes' you get and I thought I'd get back at you and, I don't know, dump them out or something, and... it didn't take me long to realize what it was...”    
  
“Oh...”   
  
“I don't get it.” Grif's voice sounded a little choked, “I don't understand. If you're... if you're one of, them. Why haven't you killed us?”   
  
Simmons chest clenched, “I don't want to.”   
  
Grif suddenly lunged to the side, gripping the collar of Simmons' chest armor, “Bullshit! That doesn't make sense! If you're, like them then... Then why not...” This close, it was easy to see the tears building up in the corner of his eyes, “Why wait?”   
  
“I don't want to.” Simmons repeated, “I... I don't know what I can say about the ones that attacked you, I didn't even know aliens could contract... this...” he couldn't imagine how horrible what Grif had gone through had been. That he shared even one thing in common with the ones who'd done it...    
  
“You're really not going to kill us?”   
  
“No.”   
  
“Not going to bite and turn us so you can have an undead army?”   
  
Carefully, Simmons settled his hands over Grif's, prying them off of his armor, “No. I'm not going to do that.”   
  
“Never?”   
  
Simmons tried to smile reassuringly, “Never. I won't ever bite you or anyone else unless you asked me to.”   
  
To his surprise, Grif actually flushed, “Oh- well- I mean. Good! Good.” he glanced off to the side, “I... Look, I'm drunk, okay? 'Kay? So. I'm just babbling. Okay?”   
  
“Okay?”   
  
“Yeah. So... I'm um... Glad you're not like them... Like, it's a relief.”   
  
Simmons felt a smile come to his lips unbidden, “Got it. You're drunk, you didn't say that.”   
  
“Exactly.”   
  
A moment of silence stretched between them.    
  
“If you um, ever wanna talk about it more.” Simmons ventured, “Or wanna ask me anything about... being like this. I'm um. I'm game?”   
  
Grif turned away without saying anything, fishing another beer out of the stash. Much to Simmons' surprise, rather than opening it, Grif passed it to him and went for another.   
  
  
They sat in silence once more, but it was different this time, while not like, a perfect comfortable silence, it wasn't nearly as heavy, and Simmons couldn't help but hope that, maybe that was a good thing?

 

END

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed that one! Not sure how well 'story time with Grif' went but hopefully it's okay X) Also hope it's properly angsty and not too silly. 
> 
> Since these are being written for a challenge and I'm posting them quickly, please let me know about any mistakes you guys see so I can correct them! :D
> 
> All these prompts, as well as my other work, can all be seen on my tumblr if you want to stop by! http://cc-sketchbook.tumblr.com
> 
> Let me know what you guys thought and see you next time! Much love! ~ CC

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed the first of my prompts! Hopefully, I'll have even more for you before the week is over! 
> 
> As a heads up, after Angst Week is Fluff Week where you can request any sort of fluff you want, including happy endings to any of the Angst prompts. So if any of these break your heart a little too much you can ask for one of those! :D 
> 
> All these prompts, as well as my other work, can all be seen on my tumblr if you want to stop by! http://cc-sketchbook.tumblr.com
> 
> Let me know what you guys thought and see you next time! Much love! ~ CC


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